Semper Mine (Sons of War #1)(51)

“Any plans while you’re here?”

“None.”

“Your team need anything?”

“Nope.”

“Riley’s right. You’re different, Sawyer. Are you okay?”

I pause, realizing I’ve been responding on autopilot. I get in mission mode sometimes, too focused to pay attention to much else around me. Lately, I’ve felt stuck there, and Petr’s words about me distancing myself too much from others returns to me. If Riley noticed and said something to Harper, it’s got to be obvious to everyone.

Sitting back in the chair, I meet her brown gaze. Captain Jacobson is a gorgeous woman, strong, disciplined and smart.

“Been a long few months,” I reply and draw a deep breath. “Thanks for the tip. I appreciate you watching our backs.”

“It’s my job,” she says with a smile. “You’re welcome.”

I study her. I’m beat and have no clue what else I should be saying to prevent people from assuming something’s wrong.

“If you ever need to talk, let me know.”

Talk? What the f*ck … Do they think I’m that bad?

“Yeah, thanks,” I force myself to say.

“If you ever need anything else, let me know that, too. Sometimes it helps.” She smiles. “Not looking for a relationship, just … you know. Stress relief.”

I’m pretty sure she’s not joking. Sex is officially forbidden in the war zone, though it doesn’t stop a lot of people. I understand what she’s saying. I’ve had a few situational flings with women like me who needed the release or companionship after so long away from home.

“Thanks,” I reply. “You all must think I’m pretty bad off.”

“We notice. But it’s not just you. I lost one of the new kids yesterday. Nineteen, walked over an IED dropping off supplies. Spent the day picking up his pieces.” Her gaze grows haunted, and her smile fades. “Makes you realize how quickly everything can end or change or whatever.”

I feel her pain and know there’s nothing I can say to soothe the guilt and fear that comes with seeing someone die before your eyes. I squeeze her hand instead, understanding better where she’s coming from. Sex, or maybe intimacy, has a way of grounding me, reminding me that I’m human when the world feels like it’s about to end. It’s no surprise that it does the same with others.

There would be no complicated emotions with Harper like there would’ve been with Katya, had I slept with her. This would be physical, purely stress relief and companionship.

“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind,” I respond and face the computer once more.

“Get some rest,” Harper says and stands.

I nod and check my email, ready to shoot off a note to my commander, who is stationed around Baghdad.

There’s an email from Katya in my inbox. I blink and hit refresh. I’ve been tired enough to hallucinate before.

It’s really there.

Leaning forward, my exhaustion slides away, replaced by intense curiosity about hearing from her when I never expected to again. I don’t know why I hesitate to open it, but I do.

Finally clicking, I see her note is short and there’s an attachment.



Hey—

Assignment I did in counseling. Probably not supposed to send it. Figured I had nothing to lose.

KK



I’m not getting a warm fuzzies about this. My gaze lingers on the first sentence. I’m guessing Petr and their father convinced her to go into counseling, and I’m impressed she did it.

My stomach churns when I open her attachment.



To the man who let my brother die.



I find myself pushing away physically from the computer, as if it will put distance between the issue and me. Realizing how ridiculous that is, I force myself to read.

The letter is pure Katya, filled with emotion, passion, honesty and directness. If I thought she was candid at camp, this letter takes it to a whole new level. Anguish, rage, sorrow … all are expressed clearly in such a raw manner that I struggle to close the door on my own reeling feelings. The sense of being stripped to the soul and twisted inside out, the same I experienced standing at Mikael’s funeral, return. It’s stronger this time, crippling, because the emotions aren’t mine alone. They’re hers, too. I don’t want to … I can’t see the depth of the pain I’ve inadvertently caused others. I can’t live with myself if I do, can’t function as a leader the way I need to. The hour or two to sleep I get a night will turn into minutes if I let myself dwell on how much I hurt for others.

I finish the first page before I close the document, blinded by both fury and pain. I’ve written letters like this in counseling, letters that are never meant to be sent but are used as an exercise to express the emotions of the person writing them.

Fuck you, Katya.

My body is so tense, it aches, and my emotions boil over for a moment, paralyzing my ability to think. I stare at the screen, wanting to delete her email and erase her words, her very existence, from my mind.

How the f*ck can she affect me when I’m halfway around the world? I haven’t seen or spoken to her since she left midweek at camp. She has the power to reach out and obliterate the barrier I keep between my emotions and the rest of the world with a single email.